


Confidentially Yours

by nausicaa_of_phaeacia



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: (but is actually pretty time-independent), F/M, Gen, Hacking, Miles Lydon - Freeform, Post Season 01, Prompt Fic, Truffaut, almost canon, skoulsonfest2k14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 04:21:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2215647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_of_phaeacia/pseuds/nausicaa_of_phaeacia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson finds Skye in the Playground's kitchen at four in the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confidentially Yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skyepilot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/gifts).



> I own only what I made up myself.  
> Another rushed one (surprise, surprise). No actual face-sucking (sorry) because I wanted the story to be almost canon. 
> 
> Prompts:  
> [RISING TIDE]; [INSOMNIA]

He finds her in the kitchen, almost hugging her laptop, and he's almost positive she's feverishly trying to hack her way in somewhere.  
"Can't sleep?"  
"Coulson. Hey. No. You?"  
"Haven't slept in days, to be honest. Having a hard time adjusting to this place." He smirks. "Underground insomnia, I guess."  
A small chuckle from her, nothing more.  
"Is everything alright?," he asks, as he's walking over to the refrigerator to get himself a glass of milk.  
"Well, uh ... Not exactly. Sorry. I know I'm not exactly being nice now, but I'm supposed to help someone out and it's ... The person who set this up is more intelligent than me."  
He goes to join her at the table, facing her, taking a sip of milk, carefully watching her: hair standing in all directions (he's pretty sure she got something like an alarm call in the middle of the night and started hacking right away), mismatched sweat pants and t-shirt serving as pajamas, bare feet pulled up onto the chair, the troubled yet concentrated look on her face. To be honest, all he wants is to tuck back a few strands of hair that seem to be in the way. And tells himself that it's just a weird thought he's only getting because it's four in the morning and he hasn't slept and the dim light of the kitchen makes her face shine.

"Can I help?"  
Briefly, she looks up.  
"Thanks, Coulson ... I don't think so."  
Her fingers haven't stopped typing even for a minute since he's entered the kitchen.  
"What happened?"  
"Don't laugh. Miles has gotten himself into some serious trouble. It's a mix-up, actually. Long story. He's currently trapped, electronically. I mean, the FBI's blocked all the possible ways out. Electronic locks. Codes. You know."  
His look is empty.  
"You don't. Doesn't matter. High-level encryptions, and I mean, _really_ high."  
He nods.  
"It's not really important what he did. I mean, he's a data thief, but the FBI seems to think he's trying to sell national security information to some terrorists, while he's actually trying to get some _economy_ data to the Rising Tide. Which is ... I mean, not exactly the same thing." She swallows. "He's an absolute idiot, but I don't want him to be dragged into court as someone who's suspected of terrorist allegiance."  
"Right."  
Another sip of milk. Coulson pulls up one of his feet.  
"Can you break the encryption?"  
The look on her face is far beyond annoyed.  
"Does it look like I can?"  
He smiles. "I know you can. But I guess it's a matter of time, right?"  
She nods, not even looking up, visibly pissed off by the strings of symbols before her. One particular strand of hair keeps dangling between her eyes and the screen and Coulson imagines brushing it away very softly.

Another sip of milk.  
"I got an idea."  
"Coulson, I'm sorry, but I don't think -"  
"Someone owes me a huge favour."  
That gets her attention.  
"Coulson, are you sure you wanna ... uh, pull it for Miles?"  
"If it means I can send you back to bed, yeah."  
That earns him a self-conscious smile from her. "Does it show?"  
He smirks. "Let's say I'm sure I don't look much different."  
Her eyes twinkle.

"So, can you hack the system to send them a message?"  
She lights up.  
"Of course I can."  
The typing intensifies.  
"Here." She looks highly satisfied.  
He walks around the table to look at the screen, offering her the glass of milk, and she smiles gratefully, taking it.  
She has opened a window and looks at him expectantly.  
He grins and starts typing.  
"TOBIAS,  
PLEASE DON'T PLAY CAT-AND-MOUSE WITH ONE OF MY IT ASSETS. I STILL REMEMBER WHOSE BED YOU SLEPT IN WHEN WE WERE ASSIGNED THE ROSEBUD CASE IN MARRAKECH. HOPE MELANIE IS DOING GREAT?  
BEST REGARDS,  
PHIL COULSON"  
He's looking at her curiously and she's beaming.  
"Awesome, A.C."  
The force with which she hits enter shows how happy she is with it. Not even half a minute later, the symbols on the screen dissolve into plain text.

She jumps up, clapping her hands. "Thanks, Coulson!" Then, suddenly, she realizes there are people sleeping at the base. Whispering. " _Thanks, Coulson!_ "  
He grins. "You're welcome. The least I could do."  
"Thanks for the milk, too."  
"Yeah, milk always makes me a bit tired. Hope it's going to help you sleep."  
An exhausted smirk.  
"Thanks, I don't think I'll be able to sleep after all this. Adrenaline and stuff. Miles really is an idiot." She combs her fingers through her hair, shuts the laptop and stands up. A stubborn strand of hair falls back down. "I think I'll watch a movie." He almost looks a little sad. "Do you wanna join?"  
"You sure?"  
"Yeah, why not." A shy smile. She imagines curling up on the couch next to Casual Coulson and realizes, surprised, that she wouldn't actually mind.  
"What are you watching?"  
" _Vivement dimanche_?"  
"Ah, the last Truffaut. Used to watch it a lot."  
There's surprise in her smile. "It's always been my favourite."  
Beaming.

As they sit on the couch and Fanny Ardant is driving Trintignant around in her ex-husband's car, Skye realizes they both have their right feet pulled up. After a while, Coulson decides he can't resist (it's almost half-past five in the morning, after all) and reaches over to tuck that one strand of hair away that's still caressing her cheek. She turns to smile at him (his heart jumps a little) and decides that she really wouldn't mind if it happened again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! :) Tell me what you think!
> 
> "Confidentially Yours" is the English title for Truffaut's "Vivement dimanche!".


End file.
